Where now the horse and the rider?
by bangbangbangitybang
Summary: "I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine." Jane Austen, "Pride and Prejudice." Rated M just in case. Tauriel will be featured heavily because heroines that's why. Third person OC-centric. Various literary references abound. Full summary in profile. Get ready 'cause this is gonna' get dark.
1. 1: A hole in the ground

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings. _I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.

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><p>Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang<p>

Chapter 1: A hole in the ground

_Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? _

_Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing? _

_Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing? _

_Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing? _

_They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; _

_The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. _

_Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning, _

_Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?_

J.R.R Tolkien, _The Two Towers_

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><p>It was a truth universally acknowledged that if a hobbit bore the name Baggins of Bag End they were a respectable folk. Now what does it mean to the hobbits to be respectable? Well, one never did anything unexpected. One would wake at the same time every morning, routinely care for their garden and check for their mail and, of course, enjoy a few puffs of Old Toby at the closure of a long, expected day. However, this was only common knowledge to those who inhabited the Shire, creatures quite unused to visitors from beyond their borders.<p>

Hence it stood to reason why the solitary rider sat upon her mount at the edge of the wood, glancing uncertainly up and down the path she had come. The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon long ago, the full moon heavy and bright in the sky however the sounds of thunder rumbled in the distance. Pushing the hood of her dark wine colored cloak away from her bright hair, she turned her attention to the fourteen shorter, snuffling equines loosely gathered around her own horse. The ponies had traveled hard and true throughout their long journey, and her skilled eyes easily detected their exhaustion. Sighing heavily, uncharacteristically feeling self-conscious, she clucked encouragingly at the herd and urged her ride forward toward the slumbering Hobbiton.

_That crafty old wizard_, she thought without bitterness as she led her herd as quietly as one could fifteen equines. _He said it would be easily found! I should have known… _

Eventually her eyes fixated on the small, glowing blue sign carved toward the bottom of the round door. Dismounting and murmuring a command to her tall, broad dapple grey horse – obviously the leader of the herd, who lowly nickered at the ponies to still them – she curiously observed the hobbit hole for a long moment. Quite intrigued by the home's design, she was surprised by the homely cleanliness that surrounded the hobbit hole. However her innocent curiosity vanished as her ears picked up the rumbling, rambunctious sound of reveling dwarves. _Brother, I will have words with you when I return. An _Eorling_ in a Company of Dwarves?! _

Debating the merits of propriety of either knocking or ringing the bell, she eventually jangled the small string dangling from the bell near the door, noticing how the rumblings within had quieted. Minutes passed and, frowning as the equines behind her shuffled anxiously to be put to bed, she rang again. The door slowly creaked open to reveal a hobbit, the first she had seen, whose head barely reached above her waistline. He had a kind face and a mop of curly, unruly hair. Blinking up at her, she attempted a smile to dispel his obvious nervousness.

"Hello," She greeted politely. To many her air of manner, tone of voice, and expression were genteel however it was hollow, despite its authenticity. "You must be our Master Hobbit?"

The hobbit breathed low and long through his nose in an attempt to remain placid. "I suppose," He muttered, resignedly stepping aside to open the door further for her.

"Before I enter, where I may I stable them?" She gestured behind her, a grin of amusement twisting her lips as her host's eyes widened.

"No, no!" He shook his head, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "I have my house full of dwarves; my poor garden cannot handle a herd of ponies!"

"Nonsense Bilbo!" Gandalf, stooped and full of good humor, shuffled behind the hobbit to smile at her, ducking suddenly to avoid banging his head into the chandelier hanging from the low ceiling. "Éofara can bully anything with hooves to do her bidding, isn't that right my dear?"

"I have not quite tried _that_, but I will do my best."

Beaming, Gandalf pointedly ignored Bilbo's subdued and desponded protests as the wizard instructed her to stable the animals behind the hobbit hole, away from the vegetables, knowing she would keep them from wandering off. Once she had settled them, girths loosened and bits removed, Éofara slipped through the front door and was overcome with appreciation for the simple, rustic comforts within. Toeing off her boots and placing them neatly by the door, she removed her cloak before following the loud, rumbling voices of the dwarves to the dining area where Gandalf's seated form towered over the other occupants.

"Ah, the final member of our company has arrived at last!" He sighed happily, puffing on his pipe. Despite his age, the wizard's eyes were bright with youth as he teased her. "You're usually so punctual; I quite expected you'd beat the others! Especially with _your_ skills."

"It should concern you that your directions managed to confuse even me, Mithrandir." Éofara replied, her derision without heat. "Henceforth let us agree that I will defer to you for all aspects of wizarding and you shall do the same to me in regards to map reading."

During her conversation with Gandalf, Éofara politely ignored the scrutinizing looks the now silent dwarves cast upon her. Many of their glances were dark with suspicion. Judging by her attire and appearance, the blood of the Rohirrim ran strongly in her veins. She possessed the bright, wavy hair of the Horse-Lords along with their lean, tall frames. Her fair skin was covered in red blotches from the biting chill of the night, and her homely, rough spun gown was spattered with mud and vegetation from the woods. However the most striking aspect of her appearance was her eyes. The people of Rohan were known to have blue eyes. While her right eye was that shade, her left was a dark brown color it appeared black in the flickering candle light. The contrasting colors unnerved many of the Company as they had never seen such a thing.

In the ensuing silence, Éofara turned to Bilbo, who had returned to his seat at the table squashed between two of the dwarves. He looked sullen and put upon, obviously exhausted with the dwarves' antics. Titling her head slightly, she caught his eye and smiled. "Thank you for your hospitality, Master Hobbit. I imagine hosting a gathering such as this is quite taxing."

Some of the dwarves grumbled at her words, sensing a hidden insult, but Bilbo blinked hugely at her for a long moment. None of the others had outright thanked him and he thought that, as of now, this woman was by far his favorite visitor out of the group.

"You're quite welcome." He responded, cheeks tingeing a slight pink. With her strange eyes framed by her loose, bright hair she was quite pretty. And while her expression was kind, there was something barren about her. Bilbo believed it was similar to what one felt perhaps glancing at mountains (he had often imagined gazing at those snow capped peaks that he had only the words in books to see). It was a faraway, sad look when staring at something so out of reach but beautiful nonetheless.

Internally steeling herself, the _Eorling_ gazed at the wizard, a brow quirked. Clearing his throat, Gandalf turned his entire body toward one dwarf in particular. He was seated at the head of the table, his back to a corner to allow him a view of the entire room. Arms crossed over his chest, he seemed to be brooding quite intensely as their eyes glanced off one another.

"May I present Thorin Oakenshield, leader of our Company." Gandalf gathered whatever respectability and tact he had hidden underneath his layers of eccentricity as he introduced the dwarf prince. When the wizard had first approached her with this scheme, he had informed her exactly whose order she would be following however this was the first time she was meeting the displaced King under the Mountain face-to-face. "Éofara, Tamer of Horses and my friend for many years." While the other dwarves remained scowling at her, none could hope to match the poisonous glare Thorin was able to muster. If she were a lesser woman, she would have withered away where she stood.

"Most times I am your keeper," She muttered teasingly at the wizard before returning her attention to the dwarf. She inclined her head in deference. "Humbly met, Master Oakenshield."

His only response was a rough grunt, the deep sound relaying his evident displeasure with her existence. Éofara merely huffed a quiet, amused sound and allowed her lips to quirk sharply. The whims and sensibilities of royalty, whether they were Men or Dwarves, was an endless source of ridiculous hilarity.

"What tricks are you weaving, wizard?" Thorin growled at Gandalf. "First you promise me a burglar and deliver me a grocer!"

"I am _not_ a grocer," Bilbo groused, his statement unheard.

"And now you bring me a _woman _of _The Mark_!" The dwarf prince made a scoffed sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "The Mark!" He exclaimed again.

"Now Thorin," Gandalf rebuked gently. "I have asked that you trust my judgment in small matters of this quest, Éofara is one such matter."

"This is not a small matter, Gandalf." Thorin retorted hotly. "You should have spoken to me about this much sooner!"  
>Bilbo, along with the remaining dwarves, watched the exchange in silence, knowing better than to interrupt their leader. Some of the elder dwarves also examined Éofara's reaction to the discussion, but she merely blinked lazily and appeared unruffled by Thorin's firm refusals.<p>

"It is no bother." She finally interrupted, starling the dwarves. Many could not believe she dared cut off Thorin of all people. Aforementioned dwarf turned to narrow his eyes at her while Gandalf seemed slightly surprised by her interjection as well. "I can very easily return to my home, for I have many comfortable ponies to carry me. I assume you all have wonderful walking shoes then, for it is a long way you are traveling, yes?"

If at all possible, Thorin's eyes narrowed even more.

Lifting one shoulder in an easy shrug, Éofara made to turn away and head toward the door, quietly murmuring a final gratitude to Bilbo just as Balin rose to his feet. "Ah- Wait a moment?"

Perhaps it was age or experience, but Balin was by far the most level headed dwarf. Frequently he served to cool their prince's hot temper and rash actions, tempering him with much needed sense. Stilling, she inclined her head slightly in answer to the white haired dwarf's plea, and he turned to his prince.

"'Tis a long walk." He pointed out, a self-deprecating grin on his weathered face.

Staring for a long moment, Thorin exhaled in exasperation through his nose before nodding shallowly. "Very well, the woman may stay."

_Oh my, thank you, gracious one. _Éofara rolled her eyes. _I imagine he strained something just then. _

Gandalf, smiling genteelly as the argument was halted before it could truly begin, beckoned Éofara to the table to rest from her long journey and partake in the delicious stew Bombur prepared for the Company. Fili and Kili, seeing her heterochromic eyes scanning the table for a space, began shoving each other as they nearly scrambled for the chance to sit beside her. The two dwarf brothers were still young enough to not care about a woman's origin as long as she was pretty enough, even if she was from The Mark. The scuffle drew the attention of their grave faced uncle, whose dark look was not enough to quell their actions.

Finally, the brothers shoved the dwarves on either side of them further down to create a suitable seat for Éofara in between them. "Here!" They both called happily, pointing to the now empty space. Gandalf watched intently as Éofara's mismatched gaze settled on the two dwarf brothers, her face remaining neutral but he could see her struggling not to grin in amusement. The mirth in her expression warmed his heart; he had not seen any joy in her since… Well, it wouldn't do to spoil the mood by thinking on that now.

"Many thanks," She cordially replied and carefully tiptoed around those seated at the table to her space. Fili and Kili shared a conspiratorial smile before beaming at her. Quietly squeezing between the two, Éofara nodded silently as Bofur slid a bowl toward her. It was a simple concoction, but the heady smell of whatever herbs and spices Bombur had used to season the broth smelled wonderful. Kili shyly offered her a fluffy piece of bread that he had hidden away from the others and his gesture was rewarded with a smile that dimpled one of her cheeks. Fili glared at his brother behind her back in response to his flirtation.

"Well," She offered once she had eaten half of her portion to find many of the dwarves still watched her while they had returned to their own conversations. "As you know my name, what shall I call the rest of you?"

"I'm Fili!" The blond dwarf at her side gestured to himself.

"And I'm Kili!" The dark haired one on the other greeted.

"At your service!" The two finished in unison. _What interesting ones these two are… _

"Ah, where are my manners!" Gandalf chuckled. _Lost in your cup and pipe, probably. _Pointing round the table, the wizard rattled off each name punctuated with a point of his pipe at the dwarf he was referring to. "Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, and Ori."

Éofara blinked, hard. "Erm…"

They all laughed at her mildly bewildered expression, even Bilbo managed a weak chuckle. "It's alright, lass. We don't expect you to remember 'em all right away." She was able to recall the white haired, more level headed dwarf's name. Balin winked conspiratorially and grinned in a grandfatherly fashion.

Releasing a quiet, grateful breath Éofara dropped her eyes to her soup. It had not escaped her senses that Thorin had been staring at her throughout the entire exchange. Beneath her lashes, her eyes glanced to the two cheerful dwarves flanking her. _All three resemble one another. They must be kin. _Stomach twisting, the horsewoman suddenly did not feel so hungry. She thought of her own brother, and missed his company sorely at this particular moment.

Whilst one of the heroines of this tale – for there are many – became lost in her own thoughts she rather forgot that she'd been holding the brooding attentions of a dwarf prince. Thorin observed her looks and movements with keenness. Aside from procuring a burglar – to call Bilbo Baggins such was a laughable prospect – Gandalf in addition had convinced Thorin to allow him to find a horseflesh provider and guide for their journey. While he had not relished telling yet another individual of their quest, Thorin had to begrudgingly recognize the necessity of such a thing. He had not expected a woman.

Women had their place in the world, the wilds and battlefields were not it. Thorin already had many depending upon the success of this quest, his people; he did not need a vulnerable, weak kneed woman looking to him as well. However, if Gandalf so strongly defended her abilities, well, what was he to say in response? That was how the dwarf prince found himself observing her, analyzing her abilities and usefulness.

Her posture was almost elflike in its grace, her back was spear shaft straight and her shoulders squared. He had not appreciated her interjection when he had previously been arguing with Gandalf, her words were delivered coolly but they were just shy of insolent. However now she was almost demurred as she kept her eyes downcast. What caught his gaze though, after long moments, were her hands.

The nails were bit roughly down to the quick, resembling those of warriors more than maidens. Calluses were easily visible on both palms and along the insides of her fingers. What was most interesting to Thorin was that they were stained dark. Splotches in various shades of black and grey mottled the skin well past the hems of her long sleeves. He recognized it immediately, for he had seen it on his own hands when he had worked long hours before a blacksmith's fire.

"Well, now that we have our guide and mounts," Gandalf's gaze rested on Éofara, his voice causing her to raise her eyes automatically. Quite by accident, her mismatched eyes locked with Thorin's at the action, both parties scowling at the other before focusing elsewhere.

_Rohirrim!_ Thorin thought with scorn.

_Dwarves! _Éofara scoffed inwardly.

"Let us now focus on our burglar." Gandalf's eyes brightened with mischief as he turned to Bilbo. The hobbit paled as the room's collective attention was suddenly upon him.

"Very well," Thorin sighed, resigned. Éofara supposed her arrival had interrupted a discussion about this very subject. "Give him the contract."

Balin cleared his throat, riffling around a pocket in his tunic for a folded piece of paper. "It's just the usual summary of out-of-pocket expenses," Bilbo's eyes bulged after taking the proffered paper as it unfurled into a list nearly as long as he was tall. "Time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo sputtered, face looking a tad grey.

_He does seem quite terrified. _Éofara shook her head and nibbled on the biscuit Kili had given her. _Poor thing._

"I cannot guarantee his safety." Thorin murmured to Gandalf, voice dark with solemnity.

"Understood." Gandalf replied just as somberly.

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate." Thorin added with a hiss.

Gandalf hesitated for a handful of seconds. "Agreed."

"The woman is also _your_ burden, not mine or my kin's."

The old wizard chuckled, coughing as he inhaled some smoke sharply from his pipe. If only Thorin knew the hilarity of that statement!

"'Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one fourteenth of total profit, if any.' Hmm. Seems fair." Bilbo continued to read the contract aloud, much to Éofara and her tablemates' amusement. "'The present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but not limited to lacerations ... evisceration…" The hobbit squinted in incredulity. "… Incineration?" Swallowing audibly, Bilbo peeked to the heavens for assistance. "I feel a bit faint."

"Think a furnace," Bofur offered helpfully around a mouthful of food, gesturing in the air. "With wings!"

Breathing heavily, Bilbo took a moment to compose himself and stared at the floor as if it held the answers to all life's questions before looking up with a shake of his head. "No," The Master Burglar and Host of the evening unceremoniously pitched backwards and fainted. Éofara's bowl shook slightly at the impact of his limp body hitting the floor.

The remaining members of the quest stared in silence for a long moment.

"Well," Éofara pushed her food away. "I will be heading to bed. It seems I will need the entire night to recover from my overwhelming faith in the success of this endeavor."

Thorin nearly growled but the sound was lost amidst the snickers of some of the others. Lightly stepping around them, Éofara shook her head with a small smile as she walked around Bilbo's prostrate form. "There, there, Master Baggins," Bending at the waist as she passed, she lightly pat the unconscious hobbit's shoulder in comfort as she drifted back outside.

"I like her!" Kili declared boldly once he heard the door shut behind the bright haired woman.

"As do I!" Fili agreed wholeheartedly with his brother.

"She is not present as a means of amusement for you two." Thorin chastised his two nephews with a stern look and harsh tone.

"Oh come now, laddie." Balin rested a hand on his prince's stiff shoulder. "Master Gandalf has vouched for her, have some faith. People will surprise you!"

"Hm," The dwarf prince grunted. _That's what concerns me…_

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><p><em>AN: <em>Well, what is the consensus on this? I have not been active in the LOTR fandom for many years, let alone the Hobbit fandom. (But they are kind of the same fandom, aren't they? Right?) Despite the fact that I shouldn't have even started this until I finished _this darkness light_, I couldn't help myself because A) I am seeing _Battle of the Five Armies _tomorrow (EEEEK! GAIS I AM GONNA CRY A BUTTLOAD) and B) I have discovered a great selection of works on this site that have just reignited my muse with a passion.

In particular warning this story is going to get dark because, hey, that's my thing. Also prepare for so much equestrian everything because that's almost my signature. I need something horse-y in every story I write, I just can't help it. You know that joke about being in elementary school and there's the one girl obsessed with horses? I was that child so freaking hard.


	2. 2: The world ahead

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings. _I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.

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><p>Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang<p>

Chapter 2: The world ahead

_Our forefathers had civilization inside themselves, the wild outside. We live in the civilization they created, but within us the wilderness still lingers. What they dreamed, we live, and what they lived, we dream. _

T.K. Whipple, _Study Out the Land_

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><p>The scent of a dying fire still made her breath hitch, every time.<p>

Éofara awoke with her head pillowed against her steed's curved, warm back. The great, gusting breaths of the broad war stallion gently soothed her stuttering heart beat, the rhythmic inhale and exhale of his side lulling her back into comfort. The stars were beginning to reel back behind the veil of night, dawn's pink and yellow and orange fingers tickling the edges of the sky. Hobbiton was quiet, the hobbits who resided there not due to rise for much longer still. Gazing over the curved line of her horse's stomach, Éofara mentally counted the ponies surrounding her, reassuring herself that the correct amount remained lest she needed to go on a hunt.

Dreams still clear in her mind, the _Eorling _groaned quietly as she pulled herself upward, wine colored cloak slipping to pool in her lap. Rubbing at her eyes, Éofara yawned hugely into her hand and stretched in a feline fashion, relishing in the sweet pull of her muscles and pops along her spine. Her waist length blonde hair had frayed in the night, and she quickly twisted two small braids of the more forward strands in order to keep her eyes and face clear. Reaching into her saddle bag, the young woman twined two bent horseshoe nails into the braids to pin them in place.

_I am absolutely caked in filth. _She thought carelessly at the sight of her ruined dress. Glancing around her surroundings, Éofara nudged her horse in the side with the toe of her boot. Sighing heavily, the dappled grey stallion grumbled, one dark eye rolling open to peer at her.

"Get up, you selfish beast." Éofara urged pleasantly, scratching the equine between his flicking ears. Gustily exhaling, Rána smoothly unfolded his powerful legs and heaved to his feet. Her personal mount was a great horse, standing at twenty hands tall he towered over many other equines. His powerful neck and head had the elegant and regal curve that could rival the _Mearas, _and his chest and sides rippled with muscle.

Leading him to a corner of Bilbo's yard, Éofara huddled behind the large horse's mass and stripped out of her dirty gown. Yanking on a pair of thick black leggings, the woman hastily shrugged into her light grey tunic, the hem falling to her mid-thigh. Her leather jerkin was nearly as long as her tunic, however it was sleeveless and laced up the front, gaping at the center in a long, deep v-shape to allow her legs the ease of riding. Her arm and boot greaves were swiftly tightened and Éofara found herself utterly prepared to start this blasted quest.

The deep snores of the dwarfish company assured her that they would not be departing any time soon. She should not have been so surprised; the amount of ale they consumed would be enough to fell larger creatures. Sighing, the mortal woman sat with her back against a crooked post in the fenceline and drew her knees into her chest. _The Shire seems a peaceful, untroubled place. _She thought to herself. It was as if the entire area was shielded from the troubles of Middle Earth, a perpetual brightness that she could only recall seeing as a child surrounding its homes and inhabitants. _I do not blame Master Baggins in the slightest for not wishing to leave such a haven. _

Unconsciously reaching into a hidden pocket in her tunic, Éofara's stained fingers found the softly worn object. It was easily able to fit into the palm of her hand, this thing. It was a deep, glittering black stone – rare in the Mark. However its creator had chanced upon it in the market, this stone that sparkled like captured starlight. With utmost care it had been shaped and carved into the tiny likeness of a horse, a beautiful trinket that had delighted its owner. Her fingers knew its shape well, the curve of the neck and the tiny, carved hooves. It had become her talisman.

Sooner than she expected, Gandalf along with the Company of dwarves emerged from Bag End. Many were rubbing their eyes tiredly and grumbling at the earliness of the hour, the sun had not yet burned away the morning mist. Thorin however, face severe, demanded that they begin. He was anxious, fearing that if he and his kin recognized now was the best time to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, then others would as well.

He did not mention how the ponies were saddled and ready before the dwarves had awoken, that the woman had done so without being asked. Gandalf's own gelding was even prepared to begin their journey, and the wizard had awoken with the rest of them! Pulling herself to her feet, Thorin watched as Éofara tightened the girth of her massive horse and quickly checked to ensure she had all of her belongings.

The dwarf prince glanced along the ground for a stone or log to use as a mounting block. _She is tall, but not so much that she could clamber onto _that _beast_-

Éofara trotted by cheerily, astride the dapple grey with not a hair out of place. (Well, her hair was always blowing about, but it was normal. What would you expect with long hair and you're galloping across Middle Earth?) Frowning – he had not even heard a harsh crunch of grass under her foot when she vaulted – Thorin turned away and selected his own mount.

Meanwhile the _Eorling_ watched in wry amusement as the dwarves eyed the ponies as if they were Orcs approaching to devour their hearts. She had heard that Durin's folk were not fond of equines, preferring to walk on their own feet then be mounted. Finally Fili and Kili – by far the two dwarves with the rashest bravery – noticed her staring and steeled their courage. It would not do for their reputation if she saw them afraid! Scrambling into the saddles, once the two brothers shakily slipped their booted feet into the large stirrups the others followed suit.

"Very good form, Master Dwarves." Éofara complimented the brothers. While their form had indeed _not_ been very good, she wished to encourage their initiative. Both beamed and blushed at her praise.

"If you all are quite finished putting on a show for the lady," Gandalf grumbled, already astride his own gelding. "I suggest we begin our journey, for it is a long way."

"Agreed," Thorin was relieved that Gandalf was apparently acting like a respectable wizard and urging the others forward. Both he and Éofara deferred to Thorin, reining in their mounts to allow the dwarf prince to ride point. _Well, at least she has some manners. _Her bearing was that of a commoner – an insolent one, at that – but perhaps Éofara possessed more etiquette than Thorin originally believed. _If that is the case_, his frown deepened. _It means she possesses them but actively chooses not to employ them when it suits her. _

As the Company made their way through the hard packed, twining paths of the Shire toward the forest Gandalf suddenly addressed their leader. "Might I suggest we stop briefly at Bree? We will not encounter another place to purchase supplies for a long time after."

"I agree," Éofara added placidly. "It would also do well to ask about the state of the roads, Master Oakenshield."

"As our guide, I assumed you were well versed on those roads." Thorin replied testily.

Éofara did not even allow herself to blink and responded in a calm, reasonable tone. "I am, but weather and circumstances change quickly with travel. Those who have come from that direction will have the most recent news and therefore allow us to make the best preparations."

Both the wizard and woman, Thorin realized with a sigh, were excellent at persuasion in a non-aggressive way that could not be taught. "Very well,"

Éofara released a tight breath that had lodged in her chest at his acquiescence. While her statements had been truthful, she had another, personal motivation for spending an hour or two in Bree. Her Brother believed he was dead, many told her that nursing her private hopes would only lead to heartache. _I have known heartache_. She thought with some acrimony. However she needed to see him once more.

The Company had fallen relatively quiet. The dwarves spoke in muted, short tones while she, Gandalf and Thorin remained silent. Éofara's eyes unconsciously scanned their surroundings, focusing on her senses. Suddenly, Rána lifted his head and his ears pricked backward. Turning in her saddle, Éofara glimpsed a bobbing head of curls running toward them.

"Wait!" Bilbo called. "Wait!"

Reining their mounts into a halt the dwarves turned to watch the hobbit, panting slightly, grin and pass the wrinkled contract to Balin. "I signed it!"

Smacking his lips in thought, the white haired dwarf held the contract out at arm's length and squinted at it via pocket-glass. He smiled at Bilbo. "Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield." The dwarves cheered, spirits uplifted now that their Burglar had come back to them. Balin winked encouragingly at the hobbit, who returned the gesture with a breathless smile. Éofara noticed Thorin was anything but impressed.

"Give him a pony!" The prince ordered, easily urging his own back toward the path.

Bilbo, good mood evaporating at Thorin's words, protested feebly if not firmly. However he was ignored as two of the dwarves easily lifted him off the ground and deposited him on the back of the last pony. Éofara chanced glancing over her shoulder to see Bilbo staring down at the horse's head, terrified, and holding the reins at arm's length as if they were venomous snakes.

Chuckling quietly, Éofara fell back until her large horse matched the smaller stride of Bilbo's pony. "Have you ever ridden before, Master Baggins?"

"Uh, I can't say that I have." Bilbo replied distractedly, flinching as the pony tossed their head. "And please, just call me Bilbo. It seems ridiculous to have all of this 'Master' business on an adventure Lady Éofara."

Lips quirking, she nodded. "Very well, but only if you promise the same. I don't think I've ever been called 'Lady' my entire life until this moment."

Bilbo seemed shocked at that statement, while obviously not royalty Éofara was a polite person and he did not see why others would not refer to her with respect. However he was forced to forget these musings as aforementioned _Eorling_ directed him in soft, cool tones as to the proper form of riding. Soon the hobbit was able to remember to keep his heels down in the stirrups and he no longer feared his pony head butting him.

"You may always ride with me if you would like." Éofara offered kindly. "Rána could easily carry both of us." She affectionately scratched at his withers, causing the horse's ears to swivel at the sound of her voice and his tail to flick at the ministrations and she murmured warm words in a language he did not know. Despite the temptation, Bilbo nicely refused her offer. He could only imagine what the dwarves would have to say about it.

Soon the Company and their mounts wandered into Bree. Éofara left the bullying of the gatekeeper to Gandalf and Thorin. Surely whatever surly look the dwarf prince threw the poor lad's way would be enough to intimidate him. She watched as Gandalf's charm failed and Thorin shouldered the wizard aside, speaking in low, harsh tones to the face visible through the small, portlike hole. The grimy face paled after a long moment and scurried away only for the gate to creak and groan open.

"We meet back in this spot in one hour." Thorin decreed, staring into each of their faces to ensure that they heard. Nodding, the Company began to fraction off as pairs or single dwarves went off on their own. Gandalf had disappeared and Bilbo sat atop his mount for a long, self-conscious moment. He had never left the borders of the Shire before this and he did not want to be left alone lest he get lost and the Company leave him behind. However Gandalf was the only one he felt relatively safe with.

Dismounting, he hastily secured the reins of his pony to a hitching post before scurrying after Éofara, deciding she was the next safest person. He was a handful of strides behind her, and he noticed she seemed intent on some destination. The tall woman froze when she saw a single, mud splattered horse resting in front of one establishment _The Prancing Pony. _Bilbo frowned at the look of abject emotion on her face before she nearly barreled through the door. Startled, the hobbit followed quietly behind her.

As Gandalf had said, hobbits _were_ notoriously light on their feet. Neither his companion nor the man at the front desk noticed his entrance. Staying pressed against the corner leading into the room, Bilbo watched as Éofara stalked to the bar. She was speaking in hissed tones, a sense of urgency in her voice that he had not heard from her yet. The man's eyes flickered to a spot behind him, and she nodded in thanks. Creeping forward, Bilbo kept his back pressed against the bar, out of sight of its keeper as well as Éofara. Edging closer, Bilbo quieted his breathing and peeked around the corner.

Another man, the only patron for it was still early morning, was slumped over a table, face and head buried in his folded arms. His black traveling cloak and tunic were wrinkled and dirty. He was quietly snoring. Éofara approached the table, staring at the bent form for a long moment before sniffing his forgotten cup and tossing whatever liquid remained inside over the man's head.

He sat up, hair wet and plastered to his face, sputtering. _Now this, _Bilbo thought, _is what I always imagined the wild men from the stories to look like. _He was an older man, not elderly but certainly not young. His face was long and thin, it reminded Bilbo of a hawk. However it was tan and weather beaten as if he had been facing a strong wind for most of his life. His brown hair was streaked with grey at the temples and his brown eyes were red rimmed. Peering up into her face, his mouth slackened before grim understanding shuttered his expression.

"I knew you'd be the one." He grumbled, voice still rough with sleep. Uneasily he made to move further down to make room for Éofara at the small table.

"I am not staying." She stilled him, voice weak. "I was merely passing through and decided to see if, on the chance, you were here. Fate it seems has been kind to me today." She spat the last word with bitterness.

Sighing heavily, the man rubbed his face tiredly. "Éofara-"

"Why didn't you come back, Grandfather?" She asked quietly.

Bilbo's mouth hung open, not expecting this strange turn of events. As he looked between the two, he could detect some semblance of relation. Rather than the shape of their faces or eyes, the two shared common mannerisms. It was in the proud tilt of their jaws or the fluidity of their movements. Éofara's dark eye however was the same shade as her grandfather's, Bilbo noticed. However this man did not appear elderly enough to be her grandfather. The hobbit would have to discover more.

"I would have done more harm than good, in the state I'm in." He muttered, calling for the bar keep to bring him something to drink. Looking up into her face, for he was still seated, something softened in his expression. "You look well, I am glad."

"I do not feel it." She replied, voice thick with emotion. "I needed you."

"No, you needed your Brother and his family. My grief would have bogged yours down."

"She was my mother too, not just your daughter. You are not the only one who mourns her!" Éofara whispered accusingly, hands balled into fists at her side. "Do you not think I ached for her presence after I buried them?"

Shaking his head sadly, her grandfather took a long swallow of his drink and stared at her with pity. "Believe me, my darling, if I believed my presence would have eased your grief I would have returned."

Bilbo heard rather than saw Éofara swallow, attempting to compose herself. After a long moment she began to speak, her voice controlled and brittle. "I am on a long journey, I ask a favor of you Grandfather."

"What is it?"

"Holdwulf knows the nature of my journey, but I fear it will be far more perilous than we first imagined. If you hear no word of me after six months, please go home to my Brother."

The air grew tense. "What have you involved yourself in, Éofara?" Gone was the drunkard, now her grandfather's voice was authoritative and hard. Bilbo shivered from his hiding place, wisely deciding he should slip back outside and wait for her. Stepping back out onto the muddy roadway that ran through Bree, the hobbit hummed to himself, leaning back against the building's side to lose himself in contemplation.

He realized, unlike the dwarves, he knew very little about Éofara's motivations. Did she truly join this quest merely on Gandalf's request? And what was the cause of this sadness that seemed to cling to her like a cloak? There was a regret that seemed veiled behind her heterochromic eyes that the hobbit could not label nor discover its source. However, judging from what he had heard, he would hazard a guess that Éofara had lost some people terribly important to her, one of them being her mother.

Bilbo jumped, startled from his musings, when the woman he had been thinking so hard on came crashing through the door of the inn with a stormy expression on her face. Seeing the Halfling, she smoothed her thoughts from her face and smiled softly. "Overwhelmed?"

He stuttered, for a moment terrified that she had discovered his spying. After a second he realized she believed he was merely nervous of his new surroundings. "A little, yes," He admitted truthfully, embarrassed.

"No shame in admitting such. None of us were born perfect travelers. I even imagine our somber leader tripped in a few badger holes in his own time." Éofara muttered wryly. Bilbo could not fathom the image of Thorin Oakenshield in such a predicament.

"Certainly not," Aforementioned dwarf prince suddenly appeared around a corner and came to stand at Bilbo's shoulder. The hobbit blinked hard and shook his head quickly. When had he even come this way?!

"Oh, I'm positive if I got some good wine into Balin he'd have a mortifying story or two to give of your younger days." Éofara replied, undaunted by Thorin's menacing glower. Her grin stretched enough to show a quicksilver flash of teeth. Bilbo slowly inched further away from the dwarf, waiting for the mortal woman to burst into flame from the heat of the glare directed at her.

"I will not-" Thorin began with upright indignation.

"I am merely teasing you, Master Oakenshield." Éofara interrupted smoothly, inclining her head slightly in acquiescence. The movement caused some of her hair to slip over her shoulder so that only Bilbo saw her grin sharpen. "Believe you me; if I intend to insult you it will be easily recognizable."

Thorin only stared at her, torn between crossness and a gruff disarmament at her clever repartee. Settling on displeasure, his blue eyes darkened as he roughly turned from the woman and silent, observing hobbit. "If you intend to do such a thing, _believe you me_ it will end poorly for you."

"Then let us hope that you will do nothing that would deserve my insults!" Éofara replied lightly, mismatched gaze half lidded as her smirk dimpled her cheek. Leaving the dwarf prince in silent incredulity, she placed a guiding hand upon Bilbo's shoulder and steered the hobbit back through the main road of Bree. "Do not linger long, Master Oakenshield, for we depart shortly!"

"I think you overdid it a tad with that last bit." Bilbo muttered after a long moment had passed and he chanced looking over his shoulder. Thorin's potent gaze was burning a hole at the back of Éofara's skull.

"Mm, perhaps," She hummed. "Are you married, Bilbo Baggins?"

"What?!" The hobbit gaped; slack jawed at the sudden, personal question. "W-Why no!"

"Ah well then let me enlighten you to a skill women quite excel at which I just employed on our leader. My mother was fond of saying that men are just in thinking very high of themselves, as long as they possess a wife who is able to show him his own reflection."

Bilbo frowned, adept at riddles but struggling to puzzle out the statement. "I do not understand."

"Our Master Oakenshield is used to answering to no one, and consequently may at times allow his own ego to act in a – how should I say? – _unreasonable _fashion. I was merely reminding him of himself, his own reflection if you like."

Nodding, Bilbo supposed he comprehended her explanation. He had privately observed that, even only knowing the Company for not even a two full days, Thorin could act quite rashly. Although he believed that this rashness was rooted in emotion rather than arrogance, but the dwarf prince was also quite proud. The hobbit understood a little better than what Éofara was attempting to explain.

"Or, if you would prefer another image, the man is the horse and the woman is the bit of the bridle. She is needed to curb and guide him, in order to allow his full potential to be brought forth."

"So," Bilbo arched an eyebrow and looked up at her as they weaved through the townsfolk. "You will act as Thorin's wife then?"

Éofara jabbed two fingers harshly into the hobbit's shoulder for that. "Why, Bilbo Baggins! What a rapscallion you turned out to be, implying such sordid things!"

Bilbo sputtered. "You began it!"

Chuckling, Éofara lightly cuffed the hobbit good naturedly on the back of the head. "I suppose I did."

The hobbit, though he wanted to ask, sensed that the question burning in his throat was not one to be heard at the moment. If Éofara was so knowledgeable, did that mean she had been married? _Was _she still? If so, what could her husband think of her gallivanting around Middle Earth with a Company of dwarf men, a wizard, and a hobbit?

_Perhaps Gandalf knows, _Bilbo thought as he and Éofara rejoined the others where the ponies were hitched. _I will have to inquire later. _

For now the hobbit had other worries.

Such as how he was going to remount.

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><p><em>AN: <em>As you can see, I have no life by these rapid fire updates. Also I just saw _Battle of the Five Armies_ today and – ack – my heart! I won't spoil it for any of you, but those who have read the book know how it ends.

Anyway I'm planning for this story to closely follow the plot of the movies. I also know I'm teasing you with Éofara's back story, and trust me it's _tragic_, but I don't want to just vomit it all out at once. I kind of want to pepper it through the story and weave it in to reflect whatever is occurring in the plot. There will also be many allusions and _tip-of-the-hats_ to "Pride and Prejudice" because Thorin is such a classic Mr. Darcy it's not even funny.

If I do not update before then, I hope you all have a merry holiday!

Anywho I will be replying to individual reviews at the end of every author's note from now on, so if you don't feel like reading them nothing of import will be said after this point!

_**Celebrisilweth:**_ First review of this story! Oh my friend, you have a special place in my writing heart now! Thank you for taking the time to write something, I greatly appreciate it! Haha, well _I_ think it's going to get dark – at least how I plan for things – but depending on your angst-tolerance threshold it may not be as bad as I believe. But I'd rather give everyone fair warning just in case, you know? I hope I will not disappoint you!

_**gaaralover1989: **_Yes, a rider from Rohan! I'm an equestrian myself so I always end up incorporating horses into my stories. You know what they say – write what you know! Especially when inserting OCs into a story I try to design one that fulfills a role needed by the story/canon characters that is not otherwise addressed but doesn't overshadow the other characters. In this case I was watching _An Unexpected Journey _and all I could think was "dwarves don't particularly like ponies, Bilbo is obviously terrified, and Gandalf sure isn't taking care of them. How are these poor creatures surviving" and _viola_! Stay tuned and I shall try my hardest to fulfill your expectations!

_Thank you to all who review. You make my life. _


	3. 3: With a sigh, you turn away

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings. _I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.

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><p>Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang<p>

Chapter 3: With a sigh, you turn away

_There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense._

Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

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><p>"What is that there you're doing?" Bofur's voice questioned somewhere above her bent head, loose blonde hair obscuring her peripheral vision. The light was fading quickly, and Éofara hastened to complete her care of the Company's mounts before settling herself in for the evening. Their campsite was heady with the scent of Bombur's modest, yet hearty, stew seasoned with the most wonderful spices that caused her stomach to rumble quietly.<p>

Stifling a groan as she stretched her strained, bent spine the _Eorling _eased to her full height and slanted her mismatched gaze at the dwarf. Twirling the curved, metal tool in her grip she held it out handle first to Bofur. Mustache twitching, he took the proffered item and examined in with the intensity of a master craftsmen.

"A horse, my dear dwarf, is only as strong as the legs upon which he stands." Éofara deadpanned with a quirk of the lips, although the mirth did not quite reach her eyes. "It merely takes one jagged edge of a misplaced stone to fell even the Mearas."

"Show me?" He asked with a sheepish grin.

Nodding, Éofara gestured for him to follow her to Thorin's pony, the last to be checked. Leaning against the pony's left flank, she urged him to lift his back hoof to bear to her inspection. Blindly holding out her hand for Bofur to hand back the hoof pick, she used the long, curved thin point to scrap out the packed earth, twigs, leaves and pebbles from the pony's hoof. The dwarf bent down beside her, a safe enough distance away from the equine to avoid possibly getting kicked but close enough to peer and observe her actions.

"You must be careful when cleaning this area here." The hoof clamped between her bent knees, her shoulder pressed into the pony's flank, Éofara lightly traced a line down from the top middle of the hoof with the tip of her finger. "This is the frog of-"

"The _what_?" The hat on Bofur's head jiggled from the sharp movement.

Éofara's nose wrinkled in amusement. "The frog of the hoof, do not ask me why it is called that. I'm sure Gandalf could concoct some ridiculous tale explaining its origins if you really wish to know."

"Now, the sole of the hoof here," She began thoroughly scraping the pick along the edge of the frog and down into the majority of the hoof. "is quite tough, so you can really dig the pick to get all the gunk out. The frog however is very sensitive so you must be gentle when cleaning it."

Bofur nodded along and hummed as she continued her murmuring lesson. Releasing the pony's hoof, Éofara straightened as the pony's leg dropped to the ground. "Would you like to try?"

"Me? Why no!"

"Come now, Master Bofur," She chided with good humor. "I will not be with this Company forever. Perhaps this skill will save your life someday. And dwarves are a hearty folk; you cannot be daunted by a mere pony, can you?"

Straightening, the dwarf twirled the pick between his hands and shuffled to the pony's other back leg. Éofara grinned, her eyes lightly crinkling as she quietly watched Bofur, with much bravado, finish picking the pony's last hoof with her subdued encouragement. From the campsite nearby, Thorin monitored his kin cajole with Éofara, Balin watching the prince watch her.

"I like her." The white haired dwarf exclaimed quietly to his brooding companion.

"Gandalf's reasoning must have abandoned him." Thorin rumbled in reply, arms crossed severely over his chest as he continued his observations. Bofur was waving his hands, gesticulating, whatever he said making Éofara genuinely chuckle. It was a deep, throaty sound that pleased her speaking companion immensely judging by the flush Thorin could see on his cheeks even from this distance. "Women are a distraction, a thing we cannot afford."

Balin tutted. "I disagree, the presence of a woman I believe will soothe the lads in the difficult times to come."

The two dwarves fell silent as Bofur and Éofara joined the rest of the company. Gandalf was puffing happily on his pipe; hat pulled low over his eyes however Thorin did not doubt the wizard observed every movement. Bombur handed Éofara a bowl of stew, hastily turning away to wipe down the last spoon with a strip of cloth before handing her the clean utensil. Her quiet thank you fueled the round dwarf's beaming smile for minutes on end.

"She is a quiet thing, I will give you that." Balin groaned quietly as he shifted in his seat, old bones creaking and protesting at the movement after the day's long, hard ride. "And as calm as the surface of a still lake. She must be an excellent mother."

Thorin frowned, finally turning his gaze away from Éofara to stare at his long time friend. "You think her a mother?"

"Oh aye," Balin responded easily, nodding his head sagely. "You don't get a calm like that unless you've got a small one or two running about. And the way she instructs us on those ponies, I can tell she's used to guiding."

"And why would a mother leave her child for a dangerous quest such as ours?" Thorin questioned.

Balin blinked. "Why, I do not know, laddie."

Thorin fell silent once again, Balin humming to himself as he polished his weapon absentmindedly. The dwarf prince could not get his friend's words to leave his thoughts. Éofara, a mother? Was it possible? Watching her again, Thorin attempted to see any similarities between the mortal woman and the memories he had of his own mother. Or even his sister, Dis, the mother of his two nephews and heirs. He supposed Balin's words had some merit. The hushed, tranquil reassurance he could hazily remember from his mother's presence was alike to Éofara's. However he could find very little resemblance to his sister. Dis was loud, outspoken, and jovial. Éofara was almost docile in her silence.

He could see how that would be appealing, to some men. However he was not in agreement with that. There was nothing attractive about helplessness. She may not be, as he had glimpsed flashes of the pommel of a sword she kept hidden underneath her pack attached to her saddle. Possessing a sword did not imply skill, though. Thorin could only hope that Gandalf's eccentricity would not haunt him in the future.

_Bombur is quite talented at making even the most stringent rations appetizing. _Éofara, oblivious to the thoughts of the Company's leader, was focused on far more superficial matters. Her stomach now comfortably full, the _Eorling _stretched languidly before meandering back toward the mounts for a final inspection. While many commented on her near obsession with the horses and ponies in her charge, Éofara could not bring herself to care about the scorn of others. These graceful creatures were her closest friends throughout her entire life. She trusted them far more than men, dwarves or elves.

Horses, unlike others, are not creatures to be willfully, purposefully cruel.

"Is that normal?" Bilbo asked from a foot or two behind her.

Éofara turned to stare at the hobbit. _I did not even hear him move. _"Is what?"

"You and that horse," Bilbo gestured with a finger between her and Rána. "You have the same eyes."

Running the stiff brush in her hand through her steed's long forelock, shifting the strands away, Éofara stared at his great head. As Bilbo observed, Rána's right eye was a bright, icy blue while his left was a dark brown, nearly black. "Indeed,"

There was a long pause. "So that's normal then?" Bilbo was dubious in his incredulity.

Éofara shook her head, a quiet smile on her lips. "No, Rána and I are quite strange."

Bilbo waited silently for her to continue, sensing there was more she wanted to say but some of the heaviness about her was making her pause.

"When he was foaled," She began quietly, not looking at the hobbit, rather focusing her attention on her horse, who was dozing happily at her ministrations, hip cocked and head drooping. "My brother, Holdwulf, and I had been apprenticing with our father."

"What does your family do with horses, may I ask?" Bilbo folded his arms across his front in an effort to stave off the cold.

"Horses are very important to my people." Éofara replied, running the bristles of the brush over Rána's tail to smooth out any tangles before braiding the long, course hair. "Even our name, _Rohirrim_, means 'people of the Horse-Lords'. I would be hard pressed to find a way they are not a part of our lives."

"My father's family has been the best breeders in the land for many, many years. The kings long past were so pleased that they charged us with caring for the Mearas, the wild horses ridden only by our kings. When Rána was foaled, Holdwulf and I were learning from our father. It was our first time caring for birthing mares and we were both terrified." Her lips twitched in a real smile at the memory. It had been raining hard that night, but the moon had been full and heavy despite the storm. She and Holdwulf had been absolutely petrified with their responsibility, rushing throughout the barn and shrieking at one another.

"My grandfather and grandmother came late in the night to bring us something hot to drink. Rána had been born minutes before and he was shakier on his feet than most foals. My grandmother saw his eyes first and when she returned to the house demanded that my father swear not to gift him to anyone but myself."

"Because you have the same eyes?" Bilbo asked, tilting his head to the side.

Éofara nodded, just finishing the long braid of her horse's tail and twining it off with a loose strand. "She believed it meant he was a missing part of my soul, two sides of the same coin if you will. She told me I would not find a truer friend then him, and she was right." Scratching the sensitive spot behind his ear, Rána nickered happily at the attention.

"I'm going to be honest," Bilbo exhaled loudly. "That _is_ a strange story."

Soon after the hobbit bade her good night, rolling out his bedroll beside an already snoozing Bombur. Fili and Kili sat together near the fire, conversing quietly and sharpening their weapons. The other dwarves were either preparing for bed or checking over their supplies, Gandalf overseeing it all through a haze of pipe smoke.

"You seem to place the needs of that horse above your own." A deep voice rumbled somewhere above her head from where she was bent near her saddle pack. Looking up, she was surprised to see it was Thorin who had come to address her. Well, it appeared to her that he had approached the loose herd of horses to search for a quiet place for solitude and nearly stumbled into her.

"You do the same for your Company, don't you?" Éofara retorted coolly.

Thorin blinked.

"When we camp for the night, you are always the last to eat and to lay your bedding down." She continued. "You value the needs of your kin over your own. These creatures are my kin, so I care for them first."

The dwarf prince was surprised at the insight, her observations into his actions and character seeming almost intimate. Éofara had not shown much interest in any of the Company – least of all him, their conversation at Bree had been the last and longest between them – or their quest.

When he did not reply she turned to fully face him. "Or did you say that as a criticism?"

"No, I-" Thorin stopped himself, uncharacteristically intimidated. _No, not intimidated, _he amended mentally. _Unnerved is the proper word. _The dwarf prince wondered if this was divine retribution. Throughout his life he had utilized his daunting, silent presence against enemies, politicians, and even unruly servants. A silent, stern look was far more effective than shouting all the breath in his lungs. Éofara utilized the same piercing charisma. Her intense, mismatched gaze bright with quickness seemed to stare _through _him.

Thorin Oakenshield, dwarf prince of Erebor and descended from Durin himself, would rather walk out into Long Lake and drown than be cowed. And by _a woman from Rohan_ no less.

"You tease me, yet again." His rumble was soft with understanding and he slanted his gaze at her with some chiding scorn.

A quick grin dimpled her cheek. It may have surprised the dwarf prince to learn that Éofara's thoughts were quite similar to her own. She noted that his blue eyes had depth to them, fathomless in their intense introspection, which she found quite singular to him. Their gaze was almost enticing, making her wonder what thoughts caused such a somber light. "I do, but it does not make my words any less true." He made a move to protest, but she shook her head quickly to stop him. "You should not be embarrassed, it is an admirable trait. They are fortunate to have a leader who truly cares for their wellbeing in the way that you do."

Unsure what to think, Thorin cleared his throat. "I believe that was a compliment you just gave to me."

"It was indeed, Master Oakenshield." Éofara's eyes crinkled with her smile. "I told you my insults would be easily recognizable, I applaud your sharp observational skills."

Despite his best efforts a small, amused exhale left his lips. "You tease me still."

Rána, who had been watching the exchange between his master and the dwarf quietly, shook his head and huffed loudly. "You make it easy." The _Eorling _turned away at the bidding of her stallion, who did not quite like being ignored for a dwarf and began snuffling her hair.

_That horse just glared at me._ Thorin thought with all the trepidation the dwarf people could muster when it came to equines. He watched her quietly murmur to the large dappled grey horse, amazed at how the beast actually seemed to _understand_ her words. "Do you have two footed kin?"

Éofara glanced over her shoulder at him, assessing. "I do," She paused for a long moment, enjoying Thorin's increasing frustration with her reticent answers. "My elder brother's name is Holdwulf. My father was called Holdfara, his family breeds horses. My mother was called Éowine, and her father is Halgon of the Dúnedain."

Thorin began to understand Gandalf's selection of this particular woman. He also took particular note of the changing tenses as she referred to each family member. _Only a brother and grandfather remaining. _"A Ranger?" Éofara nodded. "So how old are you then?"

Incredibly, she audibly choked on air and stared at him, disbelieving. "What?"

Flushing, the dwarf prince looked away quickly at the edge of the woods, the night sky, anything other than the woman in front of him. "I…"

The awkward moment seemed to stretch on for eternity, both taciturn individuals unsure how to move past the tension hanging between them. Munching on grass loudly in the silence, Rána eyed the two with a gaze as mismatched as his master's. Sensing the guilty party, the stallion flicked his braided tail at Thorin, catching the dwarf on the arm lightly.

The tension shattered, Éofara chuckled quietly and pat her mount's thick neck. "I will be forty-six on the third of June." She said with all of the confidence of a woman who appeared no older than twenty-five.

Thorin frowned in thought. "That is days away."

"Indeed," She acquiesced easily.

Sensing her indifference to her own birthday, the dwarf prince pursued his previous line of questioning. Éofara was oddly conversational and open this evening and he planned on taking advantage of her loose tongue. "Tell me about them."

"About who?"

"Your family," Thorin settled himself against the trunk of a nearby tree, arms crossed over his chest.

Éofara peered curiously at him. "Why do you wish to know?"

He shrugged. "I wish to know more about the people I allow within stabbing distance of my back." His words were slightly forceful with a chilled heat.

She found his wording and reasoning extremely telling. In a moment of whimsical abandon, because she could admit at least to herself that the displaced dwarf prince intrigued her, Éofara settled on obliging him. He was unlike his kinsman in many ways. He was a quiet, introspective creature with an intense depth she had never encountered before. The weight of the world – his kinsmen, the honor of his family and the fate of his people – was reflected in his gaze. Despite his silence, his presence was larger than life and demanded attention from all within sight of him.

"Very well. Where would you like me to begin?" She was amused by his posturing.

"Tell me about your brother." Éofara glanced up at his question, hearing a strange tone in the sound. His voice sounded slightly strained, as if he were remembering a past pain. His eyes looked haunted.

"He is a gentle soul, always seeking to make those around him laugh." The bright haired woman began, speaking as she moved her saddle, pack and bedroll away from the herd. Kneeling barely a foot away from the dwarf prince she began settle herself in for the evening. "People mistake that gentleness for weakness, they are surprised when they attempt to take advantage of him that he has a harsh bite. He is the friendlier of the two of us; people enjoy his company far more than mine." Her lips quirked as she smoothed out her bedroll. "Many times when we were younger he needed to come to rescue me from incurring the wrath of the older children."

"He is a good elder brother then?" Thorin asked, voice a rumble in the encroaching darkness.

"Yes," She could not keep herself from smiling as she thought of Holdwulf, his light blue eyes bright with merriment and shoulder length blond hair windblown from a long day in the pastures. "Aside from my horse, he is my closest friend."

Thorin cleared his throat, although now it was not to dispel an edgy silence. "Surely the two of you cannot run a breeding business on your own?"

"No, we have very loyal and talented help. Some of them have been with us since my father's father was alive. My nephew is old enough now as well to begin his apprenticeship."

Thorin could not stop a soft smile as he thought of his own nephews, laughing and joking within earshot. "How old is he?"

"Wulfgrum is fourteen. He has his mother's looks and _our_ father's mannerisms. He rushes in too quickly, but he is sensitive and feels deeply for others. He has his father's gentleness."

"And what does he get from you?" Thorin asked.

She grinned in the twilight, but the dwarf saw little warmth in it. It was too sharp; he was waiting for her mouth to bleed. "Obstinacy,"

Thorin snorted, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with Éofara after hearing that answer. "And what of you, Tamer of Horses? Have you passed on your obstinacy to your own children?"

The silence from her hesitation was knotted tightly. Something emotional and devastating and hot was entangled so thickly in it that Thorin could feel it searing his bones. It was the night Erebor was set aflame. It was the hopelessness that weighed him down like a grave before the gates of Moria with his grandfather's head at his feet and his father ripped from his life. It was the dirtied and despondent faces of his people as they looked to him during the winter for shelter and food. It was the crushing and overwhelming responsibility of a crown from a mad, murdered king of a stolen kingdom.

"I-" Éofara's voice cracked, the sound caught somewhere between fury and a sob. Stifling the sound, Thorin could hear her struggle to calm her breathing in the darkness. The two horses and ponies had stiffened, ears pricked forward and flanks taught with tension as they sensed her emotions roiling. Burying the emotion that gripped her, Thorin cursed the lack of a moon as he could not clearly see her expression in the darkness. "My son was always seeking to ensure the joy of every creature around him."

"Was?" The dwarf prince prompted haltingly, awkwardly.

"Yes, _was_, Master Oakenshield." Éofara snapped. "And I beg you not to question me any further on this topic. Good night," Turning from him, the bright haired woman's curt dismissal of the dwarf prince would have, normally, irritated his vision to a blinding red. Now, however, he was acutely aware that he had inadvertently ripped open the worst of wounds. If any understood the bitter, sharp and lasting pain of loss it was Thorin.

"Good night," He murmured, leaving her to her solitude the only apology he was willing to give.

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><p><em>An:<em> Here is part 3! Hopefully you guys are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it! I've been dreadfully ill with a really nasty cold so between the holidays and basically quarantining myself in my room I've been working on this a little bit every day. It may be another week or two until I update again since I need to wrap up my other story. I'm really excited about the amount of views/favorites/follows with only two chapters up and having just published this story! Let's go through this journey together!

I will now be replying to individual reviews so if you don't want to read them you won't be missing any vital news!

_**Celebrisilweth:**_ Oh thank you for reviewing again, my dear! I was very excited to see it! Writing the interactions between Thorin and Éofara I must say is one of my favorite parts of this story, thus far at least. I've taken a lot of inspiration from the interactions of Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy from _Pride and Prejudice, _as well as _Jane Eyre_. I personally view Thorin as a bit of a _tsundere_ and find a lot of amusement ruffling his feathers so to speak. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

_**Borys68: **_Firstly thank you Borys for taking the time to review! I greatly appreciate it! Haha, yes, I admit I really find heterochromia really interesting. I actually did it for my other story as well and I was on the fence about it here, but hopefully this chapter was a good explanation for it. Typically the breed of horse I imagine Rána is do not have heterochromic eyes (usually American paints do, for instance) but, hey, there are walking and talking trees in this world so why not? I kind of liked the idea of the myth of connected souls between horse and rider and kind of ran with it since it will be a large part of her personal character as well as the story. I hope you'll enjoy it!

_Thank you to all who review. You make my life. _


	4. 4: None have seen but we alone

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings. _I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.

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><p>Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang<p>

Chapter 4: None have seen but we alone

_There are storms in this world that spark fire in your soul and storms that leave you in the dark._

Jenn Satsune, _a shell in a storm_

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><p>"And what manner of thought has caused such a face?" Gandalf harrumphed as he eased down beside Éofara. Thorin had agreed with her suggestion to camp for the night near a small creek run off. Taking all of the Company's saddles, she set about oiling them one final time before they were completely stranded in the wilds of Middle Earth. The itinerant wizard had settled himself on a smooth rock near the creek's edge where she was rubbing down Oin's saddle with a saturated rag. The jar of oiling mixture sat beside her bent knees.<p>

"My face always looks as such." She replied moodily, not meeting his gaze.

"How unfortunate for those of us who must behold you for the many months to come." The greybeard shot back, his expression mildly affronted and chiding in the way that was solely Gandalf.

Sighing, Éofara dragged the rag one final time across the bow of Oin's saddle and leaned back to fully recline near the wizard's seat. The sun was setting, bleeding the sky red and orange and yellow and pink. It was as if someone had taken Holdwulf's wife's bright paints and spilled them all together across a canvas. She could hear the more jovial members of the Company laughing and sharing rambunctious stories as they prepared camp for the evening. Bilbo was wading in the creek some distance away, stubbornly working his coat between his hands underneath the water in an attempt to scrub out the dirt and stain of travel. Éofara could not stop a weakly amused grin as the wind carried some of the hobbit's frustrated mumblings.

"My dear girl, what on earth is troubling you so?" Gandalf said around a mouthful of smoke.

"Memories, _wine_*, just memories and ghosts." Éofara scoffed, flinging her hands rapidly to rid them of water.

Expression softening, Gandalf leaned back slightly on his perch in understanding. Éofara gave him a sidelong glance. "You told them nothing?" Her question was voiced like a statement.

"It is not my story to tell."

She nodded. "Thank you for that. Though I believe Thorin does not appreciate being left ignorant to the pasts of his companions."

"And neither are you or I companions to make Thorin Oakenshield happy." Gandalf replied snippily. Éofara chortled and shook her head.

"He wanted to know about my family, and in a moment of madness I obliged him. I revealed more than I wish." Éofara admitted after a long moment, keeping her eyes downcast.

"And now it is fresh on your mind." Gandalf supplied softly, voice full of understanding and sympathy. Taking another puff from his pipe, he offered it to her. "It will help calm your nerves." He even had the manners to wipe it clean with the ends of his beard.

"I believe I can make do without." Éofara tried to refuse politely, stifling her chuckle. "I will be perfectly well, Gandalf. It is a pain that is hard to heal. I do not believe I will never be without it, I merely wait for it to fade to a dull ache."

"That is no way to live!" The wizard protested with all the fervor of a person who truly cares. "I remember them well, and I cannot believe your husband and son would wish for you to live in such a way."

"Don't," Éofara looked up sharply, her voice rough and breaking and full of heartache. Gandalf was surprised to see tears in her mismatched eyes. "Please, Gandalf, please don't."

Taken aback by her visceral reaction, the wizard leaned forward to place a reassuring, warm hand on her shoulder. "I will say what your brother has already; this will be good for you, my dear. Distance often has a way of… changing our sights."

Éofara snorted in disbelief, it was far too bitter a sound in the wizard's opinion.

"Perhaps if you would stop looking over your shoulder, you could turn and see what lies ahead you."

"And what is that, Gandalf?" She asked, hopeless.

The wizard hummed thoughtfully to himself, turning without her notice to pin Thorin with a hard look. Throughout their exchange Gandalf had felt the dwarf prince's gaze on he and his companion since their conversation began. Returning the other's potent look, Thorin refused to break first and grunted when Gandalf moved his attention back to the sole woman of their company.

"I've never known you to be scared of a lass, laddie." Balin chortled, thoroughly amused with his leader's behavior. "Though you've always been quite lady-shy."

Thorin nearly snarled. "I am _not _scared. I am merely curious as to the nature of who we allow to know of our quest."

Sucking on his teeth, knowing this was not the time to argue with him, Balin did not reply to Thorin's rebuttal. In truth he found it almost endearing in how the dwarf prince was pubertally intrigued by the Rohirrim woman. The older dwarf had known Thorin for many, many years. He had watched the last of Durin's kings grow from a young man into the fearless leader he followed today and he had never known Thorin to be this interested in a woman, dwarf or any other race. In fact, the only female he could ever recall Thorin speaking well of was his sister.

"She's a nice enough girl," Balin argued at length, unable to continue watching Thorin spy on the bright haired woman. "If she were out to harm us I'm sure she could have led us off one of these steep ravines by now."

His king scoffed at that. "That is what worries me."

Balin, despite his diplomatic nature, was no stranger to the realities of the world. All of the pain of his people he had personally witnessed, he was no fool. However, a small part of him was pained by the bitterness that grew in Thorin's heart. "Not every person is out against us."

"She lost a child, Balin." Thorin lowered his voice so that only the white haired dwarf could hear his admission. "Does it not make you wonder? _What _could possibly motivate her to join our quest?"

The older dwarf was visibly startled at this new information. Sympathy and pity constricted his chest as his gaze shifted from his lord to the topic of conversation, the knowledge changed his perspective now as he observed Éofara caring for their supplies in the waning light. Where before her silence had made her seem remote and unapproachable, now her expressions seemed tight with grief. "Perhaps she agreed so out of deference for Gandalf. They seem quite close; it could be as simple as that, just like Master Baggins' presence."

"Our Burglar," Thorin cast a stifled, scornful glance in the hobbit's direction. "poses no threat, even if he does deceive us. The woman is a separate matter entirely. We rely on her in a way we do not on the halfling."

Mumbling incoherently, Balin looked away from Thorin and rifled through the pack tied to his belt for his pipe. The dwarf prince raised an eyebrow at his old friend; it was quite early for the white haired dwarf to be indulging. Glancing over, Balin's lips twisted. "All of these _conspiracies_ are bad for my nerves."

A light, unexpected chuckle worked up Thorin's throat and he thumped the other dwarf on the back heartily. Later that evening, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, he drifted unconsciously toward the loose circle of equines. The Company had just finished devouring Bombur's stew – more lavish than usual as Kili had managed to shoot down two wild birds that afternoon. The lads had all cheered uproariously when his youngest nephew had emerged from the woods, covered in bramble but his grin bright and triumphant – and were lounging near the fire with satisfied stomachs.

If Thrain's sole surviving son was perfectly honest with himself – and Thorin was, in a secret, dark corner of his heart – he walked that way because he felt he had acted dishonorably during his last interaction with Éofara. Thorin had felt loss, painful and debilitating and spirit crushing.

Throughout the evening of and the whole day after he had reflected on his thoughts and behaviors, it would probably surprise many in fact, that he did so. Most thought him insensitive and brash, however it was Thorin's belief that his struggles had made him very perceptive to the thoughts and feelings of others.

_Perhaps I cleaved open wounds that had not fully healed. _Thank Durin that he was childless; he did not know how he would recover from that death.

"You are about to step in manure, fearless leader."

Heart jerking behind his ribcage, decades of battle instincts took over his limbs to avoid the pile of animal waste inches from his boots. Glaring, his agreeable mood souring, Thorin turned stiffly to pin the woman with a potent look. Lips thinly twisting into a humorless grin, Éofara glanced back to the leather bridle in her hands. Thorin recognized it as Bifur's. The cheek piece to his pony's bridle had broken during the afternoon and he could not help but wonder just how many replacements she had stowed away in her packs.

"We may move on from that socially awkward moment and directly to why you approached me."

_Is she directing me? _Thorin's disbelief was mixed with indignation. "I aimed to offer an apology, but with your attitude, I've changed my mind."

Éofara stared at him in astonishment for a long moment before her expression broke apart in laughter. Thorin stared at her, wary, pondering the merits of turning on his heel and returning to the safety of his kin and the warm fire. The dwarf prince was well aware that his brusque and brooding manner was quite offensive to the fairer sex, the sole exception being his sister. He had expected shrieks and bruised feelings.

"You, Thorin Oakenshield, are an absolute delight." Shaking her head lightly, Éofara could not silence another mirthful sound before she rose to her full height and shimmed between Gandalf's dozing gelding and one of their ponies. He heard her snigger loudly once more. "'_I've changed my mind'_!HA!"

At a complete loss – a heavy, sinking sensation in his stomach told him she was mocking him – Thorin scowled into the deepening darkness and stalked back to the firelight. Both his nephews were inspecting their weapons with a critical eye. Kili tugged at the string of his bow every few moments, gauging its tautness. Fili, one leg bent at the knee, methodically smoothed a whetstone down the length of one of his many knives. Both of their gazes automatically flittered to Thorin's as he approached, as did the others, an unspoken instinct commanding them to recognize the presence of their king. With a barely discernible shake of his head, the dwarf prince slowly walked around his Company, quietly observing as they returned to their conversations.

Bilbo, knees drawn up to his chest to preserve as much warmth as possible, eyed their leader as he paced – despite his deceptively relaxed stance the hobbit could see that Thorin's shoulders were stiffer than usual. He was perhaps the only individual aside from Gandalf to even notice Thorin had walked off toward where Éofara was hidden behind ponies and darkness. The dwarf prince had an almost pensive expression on his face, but when he returned it had shifted to moderate belligerence. _What can Éofara possibly do to him? _Bilbo wondered. The mortal woman was able to affect Thorin's sentiments with relative, unknown ease.

_What must he think of her? _The unobtrusive, observant hobbit wondered.

The Company had been traveling from sunrise to sunset for many days, and the stress and exhaustion were beginning to set in. Thorin could see the warmth of the fire beckoning his fellow dwarves to slumber, eyes glazing over and half lidded. Quietly but sternly ordering them to bed in order to get some much needed rest, Thorin moved to sit upon the smoothest rock he could find. A tall, wide tree stood at the rock's base and provided a satisfactory recline – it was a welcome relief for his body. He was unused to riding for such long hours, the muscles in his legs and back tender and sore.

Dwalin, before he had bedded down, mumbled a vague, weak threat of bodily harm if Thorin did not wake him to take the second watch. Periodic glances over his shoulder at the dying fire assured him that the gentle rise and fall of his Company's bodies were not false.

_"You should not be embarrassed, it is an admirable trait." _

Thorin scowled as he recalled Éofara's words. The race of Men was a frustrating breed. He had not asked for her presence, and yet it was hers that had become his most significant irritant. Bilbo Baggins, at least, was inconspicuous. He must concede however that she minimized her burden to him as much as was in her power. She never spoke ill of their predicaments – even when his own kin vocalized their evident displeasure with the weather, lack of food, or whatever else they could consider, her commitment to caring for their mounts was inconceivable, and her knowledge of the roads and paths was thorough.

_She is of no consequence. _He thought, the twitching fingers of his dominant hand the only reaction to a sudden, sharp call of a bird taking flight. Despite her silence, Éofara managed to wheedle herself into his thoughts. _She is an ambiguity and I despise what I do not comprehend._

The object of his thoughts melted from the thick darkness, her bright hair twisted into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder as her body turned to observe the slumbering Company. Horse hair covered the lower half of her body, the whites and light beiges and browns contrasted sharply against her leggings. Having shirked her jerkin before running a stiff brush over all of the equines' coats earlier in the evening, Thorin thought her appearance seemed slightly more vulnerable. Her grey tunic was a rough, common spun type of material and he could tell she wore it often. The dwarf was mildly taken aback by the plain, leather arm greaves laced from her wrists to her elbows. Much like the sword she kept hidden, he maintained his reoccurring thoughts were rooted in his relative ignorance of her.

Meeting his gaze with her own mismatched one, a surprisingly self-conscious smile pulled at her lips. Thorin was taken aback and openly stared at her for a long moment. The expression was one of the few genuine, exposed looks he had seen since their journey had begun. The years and darkness of her son's death seemed to vanish from her haunted eyes with that smile.

"It has occurred to me," She lowered her voice to a quiet pitch, ensuring that their conversation would not wake the others. "that I have perhaps treated you with scorn you have not warranted."

Wary, Thorin inclined his head, encouraging her to continue.

It did not escape Éofara's notice that, from their relative positions, she felt like a courtier begging for a lord's favor. Back against the tree and kept warm by his fur hemmed coat, Thorin easily captured the raw, wild presence of a ruler: noble, controlled and distant. _Much like his Lonely Mountain,_ she thought suddenly. _Yes, that place will suit him very well indeed. _She, however, found that the lengths his pride drove him to amusing beyond reason. She sensed that much lay beneath that pompous veneer. Shielded by that haughtiness was a dwarf who possessed a painfully strong reverence for the duties he believed his position required. _What a willing heart he must have… _

"I should not begrudge you some curiosity. Your quest is sacred to you and your people, and I directly affect its success or failure. Also it was unreasonable of me to hold you to an expectation in regard to… _prohibited_ topics of conversation."

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Thorin could not halt the movement of his hand as his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Durin save me woman, speak your mind."

Her expression rearranged to a chiding frown. "I am apologizing, but now I am beginning to question my resolution."

A long, tense moment passed where mortal woman and dwarf prince evaluated the other. Each came to the realization they were both proud individuals, and admitting fault was a difficult acknowledgment. Éofara wondered if perhaps Thorin's guard weakened as her own was beginning to. Despite outward appearances, she did not wish to dislike the dwarf prince. In fact, she would be delighted if by the completion of this quest, they parted as friends. Unlike most of the Rohirrim, Éofara was agreeable to the prospect that her prejudices of dwarves to be disproved. The years she spent traveling Middle Earth with only Rána and her grandfather allowed her to become acquainted with many people. Despite her quiet nature, Éofara thought herself as a personable individual, eager to learn all she could from any willing to spare a song or a tale.

"I…" Clearing his throat awkwardly, Thorin settled for nodding stiffly but the look in his eyes softened. "Thank you. And I also am sorry."

Content, Éofara nodded and turned back toward her equines but Thorin's voice froze her. He could not reason why the question escaped his lips. "What was his name, your son?" Thorin very nearly winced, but he stifled the urge.

Éofara turned to stare at him as if he had carved her heart straight out of her chest. With baited breath, Thorin did not break his gaze from hers. A sudden, unbidden thought struck him like lightning as he stared into her contrasting eyes. While many in his Company had viewed the loss of Erebor with their own eyes – the others raised on the tales since their births – none had the same look in their gazes and faces that Thorin's possessed. However, he recognized the expression in the way Éofara's gaze darkened with grief, in the lines crinkling her eyes and mouth. They were kindred spirits in a manner he had least expected, nor desired.

"My boy was called Éadig," Her voice was soft and breakable; eyes glistening in the misty moonlight. "And my husband was called Framwine." A dark, bitter chuckle suddenly escaped her lips and she shook her head slowly. "We have far more in common then you could possibly imagine, Thorin Oakenshield. Fire has taken all from us, but left us unscathed." He started, speechless at her admission. "It is one of the tragedies of life, is it not? The dead cannot feel pain. We, the survivors, must search for a path to exist with it."

"That path," Thorin managed after some time, stunned by her words. He recognized her admission for what it was. Éofara gifted him what he had demanded, knowledge of her. "we do not walk for our own sake, but for the others who survive alongside us."

Éofara's breath hitched, a watery smile splitting her expression. Both dwarf and mortal woman felt as if a fresh wind had blown between them, shadows banished.

"Sleep, Tamer of Horses," Thorin moved his gaze to the forest, unable to feel culpable at ignoring his duties for such a long period of time. "Our road is a long one."

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><p><em>An:<em> Part 4, whew! It's been a long couple of days, I've still been sick and between work and graduate applications and all that _blargh_ kind of stuff. I hope all of you lovely readers had a great New Years! (Mine was quite relaxing) Now to get right to the point! A helpful reviewer asked this question (which I will address in individually in the review reply section) but I did want to say this specifically to all of you. The wonderful and obnoxiously talented Tolkien created many languages for Middle Earth and I do pepper some of those languages through this story. That being said, I do try very hard to conduct research before I utilize or commit to any word/phrase. That being said, there are many resources with great dictionaries and language guides. However some can be conflicting, and if after 30 minutes of researching if I cannot find a strong consensus on something I merely go with a gut feeling or try and find inspiration from the root, original language Tolkien used.

Therefore, if I incorrectly word or phrase something, _please let me know_. I will not be offended as I do not claim to be an expert and will be more than happy to fix it. I would be more than happy to utilize any knowledge any of you have to offer! :)

**Translations: **

_Wine: _Rohirric. "Friend."

I will now be replying to individual reviews so if you don't want to read them you won't be missing any vital news!

_**Celebrisilweth: **_My dear, you are a consistent reviewer and I kind of love you for it. It's a little amazing how perceptive horses can be to the emotions of people, their sensitivity is one of the reasons why I adore them so much. I couldn't resist the tail flick, Rána knows who the boss is and no one messes with his boss haha. I hope this chapter gave you some extra teasing to her past, all will be revealed in good time, that I can promise you! Thanks so much for your comments!

_**LittleFlatts: **_Thank you very much for taking the time comment, my friend! I greatly appreciate it! I also hope that this story continues to please you!

_**Vanafindiel: **_Thanks a bunch for taking the time to review, I am very grateful! It is totally understandable, especially when you worded it that way! I admit I was a tad wary of using the term 'heterochromia' for that exact reason but I was afraid using the words 'mismatched' and 'contrasted' would grow tiring to the reader after a while (and at that exact moment those were the only synonyms I could think of haha). But you did make a good point so I'm going to take it as a writing challenge to avoid using 'heterochromia' :) To answer your specific question about the term of _Eorlingas_, I have been attempting to find out if that is the plural and _Eorling_ is the singular. I've read a couple conflicting guides and resources that all say a different thing so I kind of just went with a gut feeling on it. However if someone does definitely know for sure I would be more than happy to edit all previous and future chapters to correct it! Until then I will continue to try and figure it out! I'm really happy you like the story so far and I hope you continue to read!

_Thank you to all who review. You make my life. _


	5. 5: Roads go ever ever on

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any connection to the literary or film franchises of either _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings. _I am not receiving any monetary or material payment or compensation from publishing this story. I am merely writing it for my own personal pleasure.

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><p>Where now the horse and the rider? © bangbangbangitybang<p>

Chapter 5: Roads go ever ever on

_Some people are born with tornados in their lives, but constellations in their eyes. Other people are born with stars at their feet, but their souls are lost at sea._

Nikita Gil, _Perspectives_

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><p>It had been months since the Foaling Festival, and true to his word Holdfara had refused any and all offers, bribes and barely veiled threats in regards to the mismatched eyed yearling. Many of the <em>Eomaegisters<em> had been intrigued by the young equine's looks, the brown and blue eyes not seen in their breeds for many generations. However, Holdfara was wise enough to heed the warnings of his wife's mother. Léowine did not even require words for her wishes to be heeded; she had mastered the art of a single, well narrowed look to convey her thoughts. The statuesque _Dúnadan_ woman stood beside her daughter's husband, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the approaching winter chill.

The horses had been gathered into a loose herd inside the pen, the great shaggy haired hounds used for guiding paced along the fence line as if they were sentries. He was able to glimpse slivers of his children as they slithered between the equines, lightly palming the horses' legs and sides to check for strains or injuries. One of the colts nudged Éofara's hip, the action ending with Rána roughly shouldering the younger horse aside.

"The Bonding Ceremony must take place soon, for both." Léowine tucked some graying dark blonde hair behind the curve of her ear. Holdfara nodded in agreement.

"Rána is of the age where Éofara can begin training." The _Erkenstedamaegister_ oversaw his children's work, ensuring they did not grow complacent with their duties as the colder wind began blowing across the plain. The sun was setting as well, lowering the temperature even more. Already the horses began huddling together, the older ones urging the foals and yearlings inside the protective circle to warm them.

"Holdwulf! Éofara!" He bellowed down, two bright heads turning toward him at the sound of his voice. "Bed them down in the barns! Then get inside before you catch cold and your mother has my head!"

"_Giese Fæder_!" The siblings chorused simultaneously. Holdwulf lightly ran to the gate of the pen, whistling to the hounds that sprinted to the young man's call. Much like his name, Holdfara had passed his looks to his only son. At thirty years, his son was tall but well built with strength. Unlike his father, Holdwulf kept his shoulder length blond hair pulled fully away from his face in a messy twist at the back of his head.

With a flick of his wrist and a strong command, the dogs rushed past his son's legs, barking as they fanned around the horses to herd them to the large, barn structure within sight of their home. The mares with foals whinnied in annoyance, staunchly remaining near Éofara as the hounds yipped at their legs. Holdfara could not hear from his position on the hill, but experience told him that his daughter was murmuring calmly to the skittish and protective mares. Eventually, under the direction of his children, the hounds, and the lead stallion, the herd began to trickle out of the pen and toward the barn where the_ Eoscealcs_ awaited their charges.

"Holdwulf will be an excellent _Erkenstedamaegister_." Léowine smiled in maternal pride as she observed her grandchildren.

"It is not a station passed through blood." Holdfara reminded her wryly.

"Indeed, it is bestowed upon the one the King believes best suits the title. Holdwulf will exceed I dare say even _your_ expectations."

Holdfara hummed a noise of agreement. He had immense pride in his son and the man he had become. There was a gentleness in his eyes, voice and thoughts that Holdfara recognized in his wife. However his son inherited his father's shrewdness which did not allow that tenderness to transform into naivety. When he passed to the halls of his forefathers, he could go to eternal peace with confidence that his son would provide comfortably – if not very profitably – for his family.

"I fear for Éofara more so than her brother." Holdfara confessed. He did not confide these thoughts with his beloved wife, for the very same reasons he was concerned for his daughter's well being.

"She is resilient." Léowine retorted, wry affection in her tone. "Halgon taught it well to her."

"This world," Holdfara went on slowly, turning back toward his home. Smoke rose from the chimney, his wife Éowine most likely completing the preparations for their evening meal. "will break her. For all of his kindness, Holdwulf's spirit has been forged in iron. My daughter feels too deeply and loves all too fiercely."

Léowine frowned, easily able to discern the genuine distress on her daughter's husband's expression. Never before had she heard such exclamations as she walked beside him toward the house. Throat constricting, she reached into the folds of her skirt for a linen cloth, covering her mouth with the fabric as the coughing began. Holdfara watched her in grim silence.

"It is growing worse," Splaying one large, calloused hand between the older woman's shoulder blades, Holdfara's concern spiked as the audible, rattling wheeze echoed in her chest with each inhale. What had begun as a simple winter cold the previous season had slowly but steadily worsened. He had seen Léowine disposing of the bloodied handkerchiefs to conceal the sickness from both Éowine and Halgon.

"I am aware." She whispered, voice hoarse as she delicately dabbed her lips. The white cloth was stained with red splotches.

A long moment of silence passed between them before the _Eorling_ spoke again. "How much time do you have?"

Léowine inhaled shakily, something catching in her throat. "To make it through winter would be a miracle." Long fingers curled into Holdfara's forearm, nails digging harshly into his flesh. His wife's mother's face twisted in desperation. "You are right; my passing will be the first to crack Éofara. Promise me something, Holdfara!"

"I will swear any oath you wish." He assured quietly. "I swear on the legacy of my forefathers all the way back to the beginning."

"Watch over Éowine and Éofara. And do not let Halgon do something rash. He is so stubborn a-at t-t-times." Her voice faltered and she was overcome with body wracking coughs once again. Holdfara watched worriedly as her eyes glazed over and she slumped in his grip, fainting.

Easily scooping her into his arms, Holdfara ran as quickly as he was able. "Éowine! Halgon!" His wife had some skill with medicine however he doubted she would remain calm enough to be of much use. "Summon the healer!"

His unsuspecting children at this time were completing their chores in the barn. After guiding the whole herd into the massive structure, both Éofara and Holdwulf gathered the respective _Eoscealcs _under their command to ensure each knew their responsibilities before retiring to their hall. As she passed the stall he shared with his mother, Rána whinnied – the sound was sweet and high like a child's laughter – small head struggling to peek above the door. Laughing, Éofara scratched at the spot where his forelock met his skull. The yearling butted his head into the curve of her palm in response to the attention.

"Unlike Eorl I will be unable to accomplish any great deeds in my youth if you continue to just stand about." Holdwulf was suddenly at her side, ruffling the top of her head with his large hand. Éofara swatted at him.

"You, like most men, cannot abide suffering from hunger and merely wish to hurry me to dinner."

Feigning a hurt expression, Holdwulf placed a hand on his chest. "Such cruel words, you shrew! Were that the case, I could just abandon you."

"And incur mother and grandmother's wrath?" Éofara retorted, laughing at the puckered expression on his face. "Ah yes, exactly as I thought." Following her elder brother, the two siblings engaged in conversation as they meandered along the dirt path leading from the barn to the spacious building they called home. Including their entire family, the household also employed a good amount of servants and staff who also had rooms on the lower levels. There was also a fairly large hall at the structure's front to serve as local court gathering of sorts as in addition to receiving the title _Erkenstedamaegister_, their father was a dear old friend of the current _Maegtheow_.

Éofara stiffened suddenly, dirt encrusted fingers blindly searching to take hold of her brother's. "Something has happened,"

Holdwulf paused, gaze shifting from his sister's apprehensive expression to the hall. Light flickered from within, the halls bustling with usual activity; however the air felt tense, as if the world was balancing on a knife's edge. "Come," Tugging at their still joined hands, the siblings raced up the path at a quick run, breath coming slightly more ragged once they stumbled through the doorway. Holdfara was awaiting their arrival, arms crossed severely in front of him.

"Something has happened?" Éofara's tone formed it as a statement rather than a question.

Their father nodded and suddenly both of his children became starkly aware of the creases hedging Holdfara's eyes and mouth. "Your grandmother is very ill."

That evening seemed to whisk by Éofara's mismatched eyes. Her grandfather and mother remained sequestered in her grandmother's room along with the healer for many hours. Just as dawn was creeping across the horizon Halgon quietly stepped out into the hall, face gaunt and heavy with something like resignation. Holdwulf had fallen into a light slumber beside his sister, the two siblings propped against the wall. Her brother's head lay against her shoulder.

"Grandfather," Éofara blinked innocently up at the older man, gaze skirting across his face in search of answers.

Her worry thickened when Halgon did not even attempt to smile in reassurance. "She wishes to speak to both of you. Holdwulf first,"

Gently waking her brother, the elder of the two yawned and ran a hand through his disheveled blond hair before quietly slipping into the closed room. Éofara turned to her grandfather; however she swallowed her words when all she glimpsed of him walking outside was the tense line of his back. The entire structure was morose and quiet, their servants genuinely concerned for their mistress' mother.

Holdfara had, at some point during the still night, persuaded his wife to retire for what little rest she was physically able to get. Thus Éofara remained alone in the hall, staring at the whorls in the wood that compromised the walls of her home. She was unsure how much time passed until the door creaked open and Holdwulf crept out. His expression was strained and shadows flickered in his gaze. "She wants to speak to you."

Nodding, throat constricting in fear, Éofara hauled herself to her feet and slipped past her brother. Her grandmother's room stank with the pungent scent of herbs and poultices, overpowering the normally clean, faint lavender aroma that clung to her skin and ends of her hair. The woman herself, normally so robust and poised, lay still and fragile with skin a sallow color against the crisp white pillows supporting her. Her eyes seemed sunken into her skull appearing like the bodies the Riders of the Mark returned with for burial. The comparison shot ice through her.

"My Éofara," Léowine rasped out, the rattle in her chest echoing as if in a hollow cavern, and weakly reached for her grandchild. Crossing the room quickly, Éofara held her hand tightly, curling it to rest against her. "You will truly be beautiful some day and terribly, _terribly _raw."

Frowning at the glaze of haziness in her gaze as well as her nonsensical statement, the younger woman smoothed the lank hair away from her grandmother's sweat beaded forehead. "Hush now,"

"You so resemble her, you bear her mark."

"Grandmother," Éofara attempted to quiet her once more, desiring her to save her breath rather than waste it.

"I recall her looks well, those eyes of Éoguthwyn." Léowine's chest heaved under the thin covering of the blanket, her gaze wild and unfocused. Her grip on Éofara's hand tightened so that the younger woman swore she could feel her bones creaking. "Many were struck speechless by your great-great-grandfather's sister's gaze. Strong men fell to their knees before her shield and spear, a true shield-maiden of Rohan. Tragedy and loss shadowed her; she wore it as a cloak and wielded it like a war banner. There was a rawness to her movements, her air and manner of speaking plainly."

Léowine began to weep weakly, her breaths growing more ragged. "I am sorry, my dear Éofara. I fear you will bear her same tragic fate. Éoguthwyn endures through you, for you bear her eyes." Reaching out with her other, shaking hand, the sickly woman threaded her fingers through her granddaughter's golden hair, reverently rubbing the soft waves between her fingers. "You must remain strong for me lest I pass from this world with regrets."

Seeing the light and clarity drain from Léowine's eyes, Éofara nodded, throat thick with grief and swallowed sobs. "I swear it,"

Relief smoothed the lines of illness and fear from Léowine's expression, for the briefest of moments she resembled the woman her family and husband had adored. With a quiet, drawn out sigh she eased back against the pillows, stilling and allowing her eyes to close. Éofara waited a long moment, staring, but Léowine's chest did not rise again.

* * *

><p>It did not escape either Éofara or Thorin's notice that a nearly indiscernible shift had occurred between the two. Following the apologies both exchanged, quiet and soft and easily broken in darkness, a tension had eased. No longer did the dwarf prince's lips twist in a sneer if a head of blonde hair brightened his field of vision or suspicion coil tightly in his chest when one of his Company spoke to her. Balin never mentioned it; however Thorin was certain that at times when he felt none were watching, the white haired dwarf would smile knowingly at the two.<p>

Somehow, the dwarf prince realized, the mortal woman had seamlessly become accepted amongst his fellows. The hobbit as well was beginning to grow more and more at ease around his dwarf companions, and vice versa. However other oddities failed to escape Thorin's sharp gaze.

Wherever the Company settled for camp, Éofara would avoid the fire no matter how frigid it became. Thorin observed as she would prepare her bed roll night after night closer to the loose herd of equines, back propped against the rough bark of a tree and her head pillowed on a tightly rolled cloak she kept on her shoulder to ease the strain on her neck. He was able to deduce that she had no aversion to the presence of any in the Company but even his blunt nature could not allow him to broach the subject to the _Eorling_. He had demanded answers and she had obliged, despite the pain she felt with her story's retelling. Any further intrusion into her memories would be cruel.

_No one will bar her from joining us. _Thorin thought, broodingly staring into the crackling fire. _If she wishes to freeze, I give her leave to do so. _

Settling himself against the boulder at his back, the displaced king allowed himself a moment of sweet, sweet respite. His muscles were growing accustomed to being astride a pony for long hours; however there was still a deep, present soreness that would abate slowly.

_Frerin would have cursed the shaggy creatures. _He thought with a brief, weak smile. His brother, like most of their folk, could not abide traveling on horseback and would have _walked_ clear across Middle Earth rather than sit in a saddle for more than an hour. If he allowed his nostalgia to completely take him, Thorin could almost hear his brother's mutterings near him. _"Blasted things, I swear on Durin's beard my mount despises me. Did you see it try to throw me earlier, brother? Look, it's glaring at me right now-"_

"-Orcs." The word was enough to startle Thorin from his doze, body rigid. Regaining his wits, the dwarf prince straightened and was on his feet before his mind willed it. Whole body turning, shoulders rigid in the manner only one adopted from many years of uncertain battles, he espied his two nephews and the hobbit.

"Orcs?" Bilbo's question did not sound like a squeak, although it was quite close to one.

"Throat cutters," Fili's voice dropped low in warning. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep." Kili added on to his brother's words, face somber. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."

Only once the hobbit had turned to stare out over the bluff they had camped upon did his nephews turn to each other with conspiratorial grins, laughing quietly at their joke. Just as Bilbo turned back round, comprehending the teasing nature of the two dwarf princes, Thorin felt something hot snap in his chest.

"You think that's funny?" He questioned in an even, deep voice. It was a tone not needed often, for it evidenced his true feelings. Both Fili and Kili had not heard it for a long time, not since they were children and had done something particularly foolish. "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

Chastised, his nephews shared another look before Kili ventured in an apologetic voice "We didn't mean anything by it."

For a brief moment Thorin became bitterly, bitterly envious of his nephews. Once Erebor fell and the devastation left in the wake of Thror's mad attempt at reclaiming Moria had befallen them, Thorin had sworn an oath amongst the corpses of his folk and kin that his nephews and the newest generation of dwarves under his charge would not grow in the same manner as he had. Thorin would have gladly opened a vein to keep his nephews from feeling the cold, stark terror of uncertainty as he had when his elders faltered. Not knowing where one's next meal was to be found, constantly searching for shelter and security not only for yourself but your family and a whole people who looked to you for guidance. The responsibility had been heavy, but his toils and provided a safe, secure childhood for his nephews to enjoy.

"No you didn't," He swallowed down the emotion, burying it beneath stone and ice and whatever else he could find within himself. As he moved away from the glow of the fire and his nephews and the hobbit and the Company did he realize that Éofara sat but a foot or two away from Fili. Back to the cave wall sheltering his nephews, her legs were bent at the knees while a bowl of stew cooled near her feet. She watched him with an unreadable gaze. Turning away, he stalked to the edge of the bluff, staring out into the cold night. "You know nothing of the world."

Éofara kept her peace as Thorin passed her, something like bereavement tightening his expression in a manner she was all too familiar with for she frequently wore it herself. The bright haired woman was vaguely informed with the story of King Thror's descent into madness; she could only imagine the profound grief Thorin carried within himself.

"Don't mind him, laddie." Balin meandered over, leaning against the out cropping and slotting himself between the princes and Éofara. "Thorin has more cause then most to hate Orcs."

"There are those who _like_ Orcs?" Éofara questioned, slanting her gaze up at the white haired dwarf. "Aside from other Orcs or Goblins and the like?"

Giving her a chastising expression that hinted at his many years caring for mischievous dwarflings, Balin returned his gaze to Fili and Kili. "After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first."

The Battle of Azanulbizar was spoken amongst the people of Rohan with a mixture of confusion, scorn and exasperation. Hostility crackled between the two peoples due to the treasure of Scatha, when Fram refuted the Dwarves claims of ownership. Dark whispers continued even until this age that it was the riches which had caused the Dwarves slew Fram for his insults. At the time the Battle of Azanulbizar occurred, immediate repercussions did not hold much consequence to the Mark. However the Orcs, weakened, began spilling over into the Horse-Lords territory. The once peaceful swells of grass land became infested with enemies and blood.

For her family the story of the Dwarves' folly was told generation after generation. Éoguthwyn, one of the most famed shield-maidens of their age, sought relentlessly to clear the lands of Orcs in the aftermath. Her great-grandmother was rumored to have told Holdfara that Éoguthwyn had journeyed to speak to Thror himself, warning him what doom he would bring not only upon his own people, but those surrounding lands as well. The king had not heeded her warning, and the slaughter had occurred regardless.

Éofara drank in the sight of Thror's proud grandson, the hard line of his shoulders and upright way he stood staring into the dark. She could hear the thundering, echoing sounds of battle. Swords and axes and bodies crashing against shields, the rumble of marching feet and the scent of blood and salt overcame her as if she stood watching the battle unfold before her eyes.

"Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler." Balin droned, something heavy in his tone more than enough suggestion that he spoke with the surety of a witness. "The giant Gundobad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began," The older dwarf hesitated; sounding pained, and briefly glanced to the sky for strength. "By beheading the King."

Breath leaving her lips in a silent, quick exhale Éofara gazed once again at the plane of Thorin's back. _What he must have suffered, _She thought in sympathy. The _Eorling_ could not comprehend how the displaced dwarf king bore it. The manner in which her husband and son perished had been truly terrible, it was not an end fit for a dog, but she had not been forced to witness it. Éofara could not begin to comprehend what Thorin must have felt in that moment. Standing among that battlefield, smelling the blood and hearing the cries of kin, for the head of his grandfather to be tossed at his feet… It must have been incredibly desolate.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief." Balin continued and Éofara looked away to conceal her expression from Fili and Kili, blinking tears from her eyes. "He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us." Pausing, Balin turned to stare at Thorin. "That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing by an oaken branch as a shield. Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken" Balin's voice was proud, the tenor one takes when praising their child.

Éofara had been told this tale before. Despite his cold inapproachability, Thorin was widely known and respected throughout the lands for his deeds. She would have been more than grateful to glimpse that moment. To see him – the displaced dwarf prince with the fate of a people heavy on his shoulders – bracing himself against Azog with courage… it would have been a memory worth a lifetime.

"Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived." Shaking his head, Balin once again looked to Thorin. The gesture was far more telling to Éofara than the elder dwarf realized. "And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."

_Hope,_ Éofara realized with a jolt as the Company rose to their feet, staring at Thorin in awe as he turned with far more serenity than Éofara would have been capable of in that same moment. _He gives them a tremendous amount of hope. _

And why should he not? Thorin had inherited a heavy crown far earlier than he should have, wearing the mantle with a grace most could not even begin to attain. He had toiled amongst his people, shared their dreams and sorrows, providing always for them ahead of himself. The loyalty of his people was true and earned, they loved him in a manner many leaders would never achieve.

Inclining his head to his Company, Thorin moved back toward the fire with some calm after his original outburst in response to his nephews' innocent mischief. A wind of some sort had gusted through the camp, carrying the tension and anxiety out over the cliff side and into the night. Éofara's gaze crossed with Bilbo's and the two shared a weak expression of solidarity.

"And the Pale Orc?" Bilbo questioned Balin, voice uncertain as his eyes flickered to Thorin. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came." Thorin spat, somehow appearing graceful even when stomping past the hobbit. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Quiet descended through the camp, all unsure how to move past the overwrought, previous topic of conversation. Éofara glanced to where Gandalf sat away from the group, stained grey cloak wrapped around himself in an attempt to ward of the evening chill. Puffing on his pipe, the wizard aborted some statement and merely gazed at her pointedly. Shrugging minutely Éofara turned to Balin.

"You are quite the orator, Balin." She complimented, smiling up at the white haired dwarf at her side. "My brother and I would have paid handsomely for you to weave stories during our summer festivals."

"Oh well I thank you, lassie." The older dwarf bowed in a slightly theatrical manner. "That's very kind of you, but Ori is our official scribe. I'm sure he's more qualified than myself."

Smiling at the shy, youngest member of the company Éofara nodded. "'Tis settled then. Once this quest has been successfully completed I expect a visit from both of you to our halls. I'm sure the children would very much enjoy hearing the great tales of the dwarves." No need to inform them that she would be sitting alongside the children of her friends, on the floor and listening with rapt attention. When she traveled Middle Earth with her grandfather, learning the ways of the Dúnedain, Éofara loved sitting around fires or the tables of pubs hearing the stories of the folk who resided in those lands.

Éofara's comments, easily easing the mood around the camp, allowed the Company to return to their individual conversations. Fili and Kili teased one another, although they maintained a somber air after hearing a tale that had affected so many of their family. Éofara observed as Thorin once again isolated himself from the Company, even his kin, the black mood brought on by Balin's tale obviously still gripping him.

Quickly finishing her meal, the bright haired woman walked toward the herd of equines, assuring herself that they were content and relaxed. Thorin had resettled himself against a tree, finding the boulder he had previously been resting upon too close to the fire.

"Why do you separate yourself from them?" Éofara asked the dwarf prince over Rána's back, a stiff brush in her hand running across the stallion's grey coat.

"What consequence does it have to you?" Thorin retorted acerbically, unthinking. Censuring himself, he inclined his head toward the bright haired woman.

"They love you, truly." Éofara responded after a long moment, forgiving him his harsh words. Thorin repressed the urge to fidget under her soulful gaze; it seemed able to pierce through him. "But you feel that you must push them away." She paused, tilting her head to the side quizzically as she walked around Rána to fully face him. "Why?"

"I do not push them away." Thorin defended, voice soft. He stared off into the dark forest. "There are times, when I recall past pain, that I…" He trailed off, unable to vocalize his emotions. Frerin had always known what words to speak to his elder brother to drag him from these dark moods that afflicted him.

Éofara nodded in understanding. "Take a quiet moment for yourself." It was a vague statement in itself, but Thorin stared at her for a long moment, surprised that it seemed to accurately describe his state of mind. "Brace yourself against the pain so that they do not have to bear it themselves."

Humbled by her insight – and slightly outraged at the idea of her _pitying _him – Thorin cleared his throat and resolutely kept his gaze pinned to the forest. "Is that why you hide yourself in the dark, away from company and warmth?"

Éofara did not reply immediately. "I… do not like fire."

Thorin felt the jagged end of that admission, a void of possibilities widening like a gulf. "That is how they died, is it not?" He guessed softly, voice betraying his sympathy.

"Yes," Éofara confessed in a whisper, voice strained. Hesitation settled between them. "And no, I will not tell you _that_ story on this evening, Thorin Oakenshield. However I have seen your scars, I will return the favor in time."

Thorin nodded. "I shall hold you to that."

* * *

><p><em>An:<em> Part 5! This took me a lot longer than I thought, and I apologize for that! I got swamped with an influx of graduate applications that I did not expect and needed to be completed immediately. I was also pretty sick again and struggling to update my other story as well. I tried to keep the trend of only using Tolkien quotes in the epithets for each chapter but I am probably going to branch out of that. There are so many poems and songs that I can personally connect to what I am trying to express and I want to share that with you all! There is not much to specifically say this update otherwise.

Thank you to all who favorited and followed this story!

**Translations**

_Eomaegisters_: Rohirric. "Horse Breeders."

_Erkenstedamaegister_: Rohirric. "The Chief Horse Breeder of Rohan."

_Giese Fæder_: Rohirric. "Yes Father."

_Eoscealcs_: Rohirric. "Horse Servants." Groomers, etc.

_Maegtheow_: Rohirric. "Clan Master."

I will now be replying to individual reviews so if you don't want to read them you won't be missing any vital news!

_**Vanafindiel:**_ Thank you so much for pointing that out! I actually went back and fixed it! I suppose that is what I get after I've had a glass or two of wine and my literal thought process is 'I AM HEMMINGAY BRING IT ON THORIN YOU MAGNIFICENT MAN-CHILD I CAN TOTALLY WRITE YOU." I went back and re-read that chapter and you were right I did echo somewhat which I do try to guard myself against but I am grateful you brought my attention to it as sometimes I miss things myself. I am actually shopping around for a BETA reader at the moment so once I acquire one they should help with these smaller, superficial errors. But until that happens I am counting on you to ground me haha.

Oh my sweet Lord in heaven I hate when writers use 'orbs.' Although if I know that the writer is relatively new to the craft or they are younger (i.e. under seventeen) I will let it slide since I was _terrible_ with that word. I abused it something awful but once I practiced more I moved on from it. I can't even read things I wrote when I first began because it was _that bad. _

And thank you, I'm glad you liked that line! Thanks for reviewing again, by the way, your comments are always so thoughtful and I get so excited when I see them!

PS your icon is hella fierce.

_**Celebrisilweth:**_ Thanks for another review, my dear! I appreciate it! I am planning to explore the similarities between Éofara and Thorin as the story continues. That does require me to go into great detail of Éofara's past and basically create a whole mythos for her family lineage. I already have the plot for that planned, hopefully I narrate it in a way that is entertaining for you all!

_**MidnightTales357:**_ Hello, thanks for reviewing, comments are always appreciated! I'm happy you like the story thus far and I will try and read yours as soon as I can!

_**LittleFlatts:**_ I'm happy you liked it! And thanks for reviewing, I love getting feedback from you readers so I know you guys are happy with it!

_**Dhalmi93: **_Hi friend, thanks for taking the time to leave comments! I'm so glad you like the story so far, validates my weird fanfiction style fantasies on my commute where I come up with this stuff! The Company is so fun to write, I'd like for Éofara to have a moment with each individual dwarf but it will most likely have to be spread out over a few chapters. I hope you like what I have in store!

_Thank you to all who review. You make my life. _


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